A Nail Biter in the Age of Nail Art

Sometimes it feels like the smallest details say the most about us.

By
Andrea Laurion

Feb 22, 2018

Getty Images

Nail biting is the hardest habit to break — because your hands always are just there. No need to buy a pack of fingers or bum a nibble from a stranger. No need to step outside for your fix or sneak a bite between meetings. You can put your hands in your pockets for a little while, maybe distract yourself for a bit, but you can’t take off your hands. The temptation is always with you. Even worse, you carry the evidence of your vice with you everywhere you go — and bitten-up nails are not the prettiest sight.

Meanwhile, pretty things are more or less the only things we see on social media — especially Instagram. The platform is perfect for showing off new puppies, cute dresses, and, of course, fresh nail art. Authors commemorate the launch of a new book by matching their 10 fingertips to the cover. Witty friends spell out messages across their nails, while others use their digits to show support for sports teams and political candidates. Just the other night, on "Jeopardy," a contestant showed off her own special manicure, the camera zooming in on a little"J!"on her thumb nail.

Nail art is seeing a renaissance, and thanks to social media, the possibilities are limitless. Less focused on the long length and neon colors of the ‘80s or the French tips of the ‘90s, the current trend is more about doing whatever’s most aesthetically pleasing to you — whether it’s sparkly details on a single accent nail, or fun, bold patterns inspired by the latest runway shows.

But as a nail biter, my "manicure" isn’t something I have any interest in showing off.

Sometimes it seems as if all the other nail biters reformed their gnashing ways back in their teen years and I’m the only one left who can’t shake the bad habit. On the one hand, it feels a little ridiculous to care this much in the first place. There are so many bigger issues in the world and even in my own life. My nails are healthy and clean, even if they don’t look like they belong to a hand model. So why is there so much pressure to achieve perfection in such a small, meaningless way?

Everyone else makes a point to ‘gram in such a way that the book, latte, or ice cream cone in their hand also manages to capture the flawless, beautiful nail art that frames the cradled object, each finger looking like brightly-colored personal achievements. Or at least, at the end of a bad day while stuck in traffic on the way home from work, scrolling through photos to pass the time, it can seem like that’s the case. But as a nail biter, I can’t.

It’s hard to explain to people who have never bitten their nails, but there’s something soothing about it, especially in childhood. It comes from wanting to feel in control during moments of anxiety: There are so few things that small children have control over, and nails can be one of them — in the same way that some kids are picky eaters and others are thumb suckers.

I joke that I’ve been a nail biter since before I had teeth. I don’t recall exactly when I started the habit, but I do remember thinking my nails looked different after I started kindergarten. There was a white part at the end of my nails that I couldn’t recall ever seeing before. Kindergarten had left me so busy, that it was cutting into my nail biting time, and they were starting to grow back.

At one point, I supplemented one bad habit with another, and started nibbling on my hair, sneaking locks of it in my mouth when my hands were occupied. But unlike nail biting, this habit got shut down pretty quickly during a visit to the pediatrician’s office.

"You know what happens to little girls who bite their hair?" The doctor uncapped his pen and drew a big circle with four quick lines for limbs and a smaller circle at the top as a head.

"There was a girl like you who used to chew on her hair," the doctor said as he drew. "One day, she had so much hair in her tummy that it turned into a giant hairball." He scribbled in the center of the big circle, a big black tangle. "And the only way to get it out was to cut her open and take it out. You don’t want your stomach cut open, do you?"

I never put a lock of my hair in my mouth ever again. Maybe if he had used the same scare tactic with my fingernails ("They’ll scratch up your stomach!"), I would have a mighty fine manicure right now instead of these stubs.

By the time I got to middle school, trying to break my nail biting habit was practically a hobby. Everyone from my grandmother to teachers to strangers on the street would make comments. Each time someone said, "Stop biting your nails," I would feel a quick hit of shame like a shock of electricity, and yank my hand from my mouth.

Funny how commenting on the way a person handles anxiety does not diminish the anxiety. Maybe some people could have handled it differently, but I didn’t know any other way. I marveled at my classmates’ long, perfectly painted nails as if it was a trick that I was incapable of mastering, like doing a cartwheel or French braiding hair. And as I got older, more and more of my peers seemed to be mastering it.

Meanwhile, I kept getting into the same cycle: I would go a few weeks of leaving my nails alone, changing the polish every couple days or so to keep it interesting. My nails would get longer, stronger, almost to the end of my finger. Then, there would be a chip, then another. One of my fingers would snag on something, and I’d bite on my nail to even it out. Before I knew it, I’d be back to where I started.

Here’s a test for you: Next time you’re on Instagram, scroll through and make a note of how many times women apologize or make excuses for hands with chipped polish and toes that aren’t pedicure-fresh.

For some reason, there’s an anxiety surrounding the imperfection of fingers and toes, as if they’re a visual measure of how well we’re doing, of much we have our shit together. Most of the time, these digits are barely even visible in the photo — and often, these apologies and excuses come after making a particularly vulnerable post, as if pointing out a minor flaw would make up for any uncomfortable feelings that arose from admitting a moment of weakness.

Maybe sometimes it feels like these smallest details say the most about us. And maybe, to some people, they do. Maybe my nail biting says that I’m an anxious overthinker. Maybe someone who can spell out H-E-L-L-O on each finger is a friendly perfectionist. But I’m much more than my imperfections, just as someone who seems to be perfect is more than their appearances. Either way, there’s space for both of us to thrive — flawless nails or not.

Andrea Laurion is a writer and performer from Pittsburgh. She's on Twitter, like everyone else @andrealaurion.

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